


Numb

by chanderson



Series: Young, Scrappy, and Hungry [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Death, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Panic Attacks, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-20 09:25:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: It's been 5 years since Martha died. That doesn't make it any easier. Scenes from the past five years of George's life as he struggles with his wife's death.





	1. Then There was One

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be really sad, so I apologize in advance. Alex won't be in this at first, but he will be in later chapters; don't worry.

When the beeping starts to slow, George’s chest grows so tight that he thinks he must be having a heart attack. Lafayette reaches over and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a thin-lipped smile. Adrienne is sitting next to Lafayette and tears shine on her ebony cheeks. 

George is gripping Martha’s hand as tightly as he can, but she’s already unconscious, and she doesn’t grip it back. Her hand feels cold, and he wishes he could give her some of his warmth, his life. 

The beeping continues to slow and the doctor reaches up to turn it off. George is forced to look up at the machine, watching the rapidly descending number. He turns back to look at what is left of his wife, and his lip starts to tremble. 

“It’s finished,” the doctor says softly. Adrienne makes a soft whimpering noise, and Lafayette leans over to whisper soothingly to her. 

Martha is dead. 

His stomach lurches and he gags, doubling over and covering his mouth with his hand. Lafayette immediately fumbles around, grabbing the little bowl they keep in all the hospital rooms and shoving it into his hands. 

George starts to throw up, and the doctor politely slips out of the room. When his stomach feels painfully empty, he sucks in a sharp breath. Lafayette silently takes the bowl out of his hands and throws it away. George leans his head onto Martha’s bed and makes a sound that he thinks can’t possibly be coming from him. It comes from deep in his stomach—something carnal like a wounded animal. He continues to sob, chanting a litany of words that must sound like nonsense. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there sobbing. At some point he has to get sick again and Lafayette hands him the trash can his time. It’s mostly bile at this point and it makes his eyes and nose burn. 

George’s sobs finally start to subside and he sits there, staring numbly at his dead wife. 

“George, I think we should go now,” Lafayette whispers. “It’s time to go.”

George bristles and his whole body tenses. 

“I can’t leave her. She can’t be alone. _I_ can’t be alone.” 

“George, honey, it’s time to leave,” Adrienne says softly. 

They gently tug George out of the chair, and he’s so tired that he lets them. Before they go, he presses one last kiss to Martha’s lips. George almost apologizes for tasting like vomit but remembers that Martha can’t taste anything anymore. 

He signs some paperwork, not listening to what the doctor is saying. Lafayette keeps a steady hand on his back, holding him up as if George might crumple to the ground if he were to let go. 

They take him back to their house, telling him that they don’t want him to be alone tonight.

He immediately goes and curls up on their couch. Adrienne and Lafayette sit with him. They prod him and arrange themselves so his head is in Adrienne’s lap and his feet in Lafayette’s. 

George drifts in and out, falling asleep only to be jerked awake by some awful dream.

Lafayette brings him a bowl of soup and forces him to sit up and eat some. He barely manages to choke down a few bites before he has to go to the bathroom. It’s mostly painful dry heaves at this point; he doesn’t have anything left inside him.

They force him to drink some water and Lafayette brings him an Ambien. 

“Take this so you can get some sleep,” he says softly. George nods and wordlessly takes the pill. 

Everything fades into blissful darkness, and he doesn’t feel anything anymore. 

\---

Martha’s funeral is arranged as quickly as possible. Lafayette does most of the planning, though George does offer some minimal input. He picks the coffin, the flowers, and the headstone. Lafayette does almost everything else. 

George doesn’t move much. He spends most of his time in the guest bedroom, burrowed under the blankets. He can’t handle spending more than a few minutes in the master bedroom, can’t stand looking at Martha’s clothes and her side of the bed. 

Since George is on a leave of absence, Lafayette also takes the few days leading up to the funeral off. He sits with George and talks to him about nothing, forces him to eat and then rubs his back when he throws it up later, wordlessly hands George tissues when he starts to cry.

It’s the night before Martha’s funeral and Lafayette insisted that George stay over at his house. He picked out George’s suit for him, got his toiletries and pajamas, and drove him here. George barely remembers it happening. 

“Hey George, dinner’s ready hun,” Adrienne says. “We’ve got you a place set up at the table.” 

George looks up and the hope in her eyes makes him want to cry. He blinks and rubs his eyes quickly. Adrienne must notice because her face softens and she reaches out to push her fingers through his hair. “If you don’t want to come to the table you don’t have to. It’s okay.” 

“No, no,” George says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’ll come.” 

He won’t eat anything, but he’ll sit there.

Lafayette is already at the table scrolling on his phone when they walk up. He looks up and immediately smiles. 

“Hey George,” he says a little too enthusiastically. “Glad to see you at the table.”

George nods and sits down, staring uneasily at the steaming bowl of stew sitting in front of him.

“This is a really good stew, George,” Adrienne says. “It’ll be gentle on your stomach. I make it for Gilbert whenever he’s not feeling well.”

Martha always made George tomato soup when he was sick. She loved to baby him when he didn’t feel well, and he always teased her about it. 

He somehow has less of an appetite than he did before, and he shakes his head. 

“You know, I’m gonna just go to bed actually,” George says. He can already hear his voice getting shaky, and he doesn’t want to cry in front of them again. 

“George,” Lafayette says, his face creased with worry. “Just eat a little bit please?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” George stands up, shoving his chair back a little harder than he intended to.

He barely makes it to their guest bedroom before he starts sobbing.

\---

George gets dressed very slowly. Lafayette picked out a nice suit for him to wear and paired it with one of his nicest ties. He can’t remember if it’s one that Martha got for him. It’s a dark, almost charcoal gray silk. As soon as he ties it, he feels like he's choking. Everything is too tight. Tears burn in his eyes, and he takes a deep breath in an attempt to center himself. 

He managed to keep some Pedialyte down this morning. Adrienne offered him toast, but he politely declined. Lafayette sat with him and encouraged him like a child as he drank. He felt ashamed that a small part of him enjoyed the praise. 

George walks out and Adrienne smiles. 

“You look very handsome, George.”

“Thank you. You look wonderful as always.” Adrienne is in a simple, sleeveless black dress. It comes down a little past her knees and hugs her slender figure, extenuating her small, curving waist. 

Lafayette pats George on the back. “Remember, if you feel overwhelmed, just find the bathroom and take a break. Everyone will understand.”

George nods and takes a deep breath.

When they show up to the funeral, there are a few members of the press outside. 

“What the fuck?” Lafayette snaps as soon as he sees them swing their cameras over to photograph the car. He shoves his door open before the driver opens it for him. Adrienne reaches out and grabs his hand. 

“Don’t make a scene, Gilbert. It won’t do George any favors. Remember, he’s not George to everyone else. He’s the governor.” Lafayette deflates and nods. 

Several members of the police force come over and escort them in. George keeps his head down and ignores the camera flashes and shouts of ‘governor.’ 

The funeral home smells like a mix between a hospital and an old folks home. People immediately start walking up to George and patting him on the back or squeezing his hand. Some of his older relatives—great aunts who he barely remembers ever meeting—crush him into uncomfortable hugs. 

His sister gives him a long hug, holding him close in her arms. 

“I’m so sorry, George,” she whispers. George shrugs and pulls out of the hug. She keeps her hands on his shoulders, a comforting, grounding weight. 

“It’s okay. I’m glad she doesn’t have to be in pain anymore. The last few months were hard on her.” He swallows and closes his eyes, willing away the tears threatening to spill over.

“I know. If there’s anything I can do to help, you know that I’m only a short plane ride away.”

George nods and lets her hug him again. 

“Is Mom here?” 

Betty looks away and shifts her weight. “Yeah.” Her eyes flicker back over to meet his gaze. “If you want I can ask her to leave?”

George almost laughs. Instead he settles on shaking his head and giving Betty a tight-lipped smile. “It’s fine. I figured she would be here.”

Betty nods and squeezes George’s hand. “I’ll let you go talk to some of your friends. I love you, George.”

“I love you too.” 

Betty goes to find her husband, Fielding, and George is left standing in the middle of the room. The movement and noise swirl around him, and he suddenly feels dizzy. The room is too hot, too loud. He’s abruptly hit with the fear that he’s going to throw up right here in front of all of these people, and he swallows uneasily. His heart is beating loudly in his chest, an erratic, frantic beat that perfectly accompanies the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. 

Then there’s a hand on his arm and a voice in his ear, low and soothing with an undercurrent of worry and fear. He blinks and realizes that Lafayette is tugging him through the crowd of people still congregated in the lobby. They shoot them odd, pitying looks, but George can’t find it in himself to care.

Lafayette shoves a door open and then the thunderous noise is blissfully gone, replaced by the low hum of an air conditioning unit and a buzzing light. The bathroom isn’t as nice as he would expect it to be considering how nice the funeral home is.

“George? Hey, George?” Lafayette taps his cheek, and George looks over at him in confusion, blinking.

“Yeah?” he says. 

“You okay? You really don’t look good.” Lafayette turns and wets a stack of paper towels. He presses it to George’s forehead, and George sighs at the cool sensation against his hot skin.

“My wife is dead, but other than that I’m just a little dizzy and nauseous.” It sounds snarky, and Lafayette flinches. 

“How about you sit down for a second.” 

They both sit down and Lafayette gently pushes George’s head down. He carefully drapes the wet rag over the back of his neck, trying his best not to get George’s suit wet. 

George closes his eyes and holds his head in his hands. 

“How’s that feel?” Lafayette rubs his back slowly.

“Good. Thanks.” 

They fall into a somewhat comfortable silence. 

“You feel well enough to go back out there? The service is starting soon,” Lafayette says softly. 

George nods. He wants to get this over with so he can crawl back into his bed and be alone. He feels so tired, a bone weary exhaustion that’s set so deeply inside of him that no amount of caffeine or sleep can fix it.

Most people are already seated in the chapel when they walk in, and he feels their eyes on him as he walks next to Lafayette. He slumps his shoulders and curls in on himself, trying to appear as small as possible. 

Martha’s coffin is at the front of the room, though he elected to keep it closed. It’s a beautiful, cherry wood. She would like it. George almost laughs at the thought. His wife would approve of her own funeral. It’s absurd, yet somehow comforting. He always wanted to please her and make her proud. 

They’re asked to bow their heads and pray, which George thinks is ridiculous since neither he nor Martha are religious, but her family insisted on having some sort of religious service. They were her family before he was, and he couldn’t deny them what they wanted. They lost a part of their heart too. 

Several members of her family go up to speak, her father, her brother Ralph, and her best friend whom she always considered a member of her family. 

George is next and he has to take several deep breaths before he stands. His hands are shaking horribly, and he hopes no one notices. Everyone claps as he makes his way up to the podium. He waits a few seconds, uses the clapping as an excuse to get himself together. He is the governor of Virginia, a politician. He tries his hardest to put that mask on: Calm, commanding, impressive, the rising star of the Democratic Party.

When he starts speaking, his voice is surprisingly steady, and he allows himself to celebrate that small success. As he eulogizes his wife—his best friend, his partner, his most loyal supporter—he focuses on not breaking down. He chants it over and over in his head _I will not breakdown, I will not breakdown, I will not breakdown_. 

But as the speech goes on, he feels his resolve crumbling, and he has to make several pauses to clear his throat or take a steadying breath. By the end, he’s crying. But it’s not an all-out sob; it’s a silent, noble crying where the tears run down his face, but his voice doesn’t betray him.

People thunderously clap as he finishes and leaves the stage. Everyone is dabbing at their eyes with the tissues conveniently placed under the pews, and Lafayette immediately hands George a handful when he sits back down. Tear tracks shine on Lafayette’s cheeks. 

“That was beautiful, George,” he says softly. 

“Do you think she would’ve liked it?”

“Absolutely.” 

\---

The graveside service is the worst part. It always is.

He tosses a handful of crumbly dirt on the beautiful, shining wood coffin, carefully places a bouquet of flowers that will die under the heavy weight of the dirt. They will die much faster than Martha did.

After it’s over, George stands hovering by the hole they dug for his wife. He wishes he could crawl in there with her, let the airtight seal suffocate him, buried seven feet under the ground where no one will ever be able to find him. He won’t have to feel the deep ache in his chest or the constant nausea in the pit of his stomach. He won’t wake up and accidentally ask Martha a question on the days he makes it out of bed and Lafayette forces him to clean up a little. 

“Hey sweetheart can you hand me a bar of soap?” 

“Can you grab my shaving cream?”

“Do you want to take a bath with me?”

George doesn’t know how long he stands there. His feet feel rooted to the spot. At some point, Lafayette pulls him away and they get in the car that will take them back to George’s townhouse. Everyone will stand around and make small talk while they eat food that George will throw out later. 

Like most funerals, the number of people dwindles down until only close family and friends are left. When they walk in, everyone is already standing around with plates stacked full of food. George wishes he could tell all of them to leave. All he wants to do is sleep and never wake up. 

Instead, he forces himself to talk to people and tries not to vomit with the onslaught of smells assaulting his senses. It looks like barbecue, which is so typically southern that it almost makes him laugh. 

When it all gets to be too much—the people, the food, the meaningless small talk—George excuses himself and goes outside. It’s dark and a few stars flicker in the velvet, black sky.

He doesn’t bother to look up when the door opens. 

“George?”

He bristles when his mother speaks to him in a soothing, almost patronizing voice.

“Do you need something?” he asks coldly. His mother’s heels click on the patio as she takes a few steps closer to him.

“I’m sorry about Martha.”

“Everyone is. Join the club,” he snaps. 

“Try not to mourn too long; it’s unbecoming, especially for a politician.”

George snorts and shakes his head. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll make sure I don’t miss my wife so I can improve my political image.”

“It’s what Lawrence would do.”

Anger burns in his stomach and he clenches his fists. 

“Right. Are you leaving now?”

She’s quiet for a few seconds before she speaks.

“Good luck, George.”

George doesn’t answer. He walks off the patio and throws up in the bushes. 

Lafayette, Adrienne, Betty, and Fielding are cleaning up when he comes back inside. 

“Hey,” Betty says. 

He nods at her and goes into the kitchen. He gets a bottle of Pedialyte out of the fridge and takes a few cautious sips. Lafayette watches him with something akin to pity in his eyes. 

“Try to drink some water too,” he says softly. George nods again and wordlessly fills up a glass of water; he takes several slow sips before setting it down.

“Do you guys need any help?” he finally asks. 

They all quickly shake their heads. 

“Go to sleep,” Adrienne says. “We’ll take care of this.”

George just nods and drags himself to the guest bedroom. He still can’t stand being in their bedroom. 

He strips out of his suit and leaves it lying on the floor. He’ll have to dry clean it to get the wrinkles out.

An Ambien is waiting for him and he swallows it dry. The familiar blackness sweeps him away.

\---

After his massive mental breakdown at the office, Lafayette makes him take an extended leave of absence. John Jay promises to take good care of Virginia, and George feels a little guilty that he doesn’t really give a damn about what happens to Virginia.

The Lafayette’s guest room becomes his permanent home. He goes home occasionally to get clothes and check on the house, but he spends most of his time with the Lafayettes. Georges can’t stay at his grandparents’ house forever, so he comes home. 

He’s a quiet kid, smart and inquisitive. He’s only five, but he seems a lot older sometimes. George tends to enjoy his company.

George is currently laying in bed curled into the fetal position. It’s been 21 days, 5 hours, and 16 minutes since Martha died. Three weeks without her and it only seems to get worse with each day that passes. 

He’s lost a somewhat noticeable amount of weight—his sweatpants hang lower on his hips and his shirts look a little too baggy. He eats sometimes, but the nausea is still constantly churning in his stomach, and food just doesn’t taste good anymore.

“Hey George?” Adrienne calls through the door. “Gil and I are about to take Geo out on a walk to the park. Would you like to come with us?”

George grimaces. “Uh, I don’t know if I’m feeling up to it.”

“Please tonton?” Geo asks, his small voice full of longing. 

They’re using the kid against him, which George thinks is completely unfair. He sighs and sits up, rubbing his face. 

“Yeah sure. Just let me get dressed.” 

Geo cheers, and it makes George’s chest ache. He can’t help but look at Geo sometimes and think about the children he never got to have. Martha would’ve made an amazing mother.

George turns the light on and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt. His face feels disgusting, so he quickly washes it, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. When he walks out, Lafayette is waiting outside the door. 

“Hey George. Glad you’re feeling well enough to join us.”

George shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “No problem.”

Lafayette looks at him closely, his gaze calculating. It makes George uncomfortable. 

“Have you thought about going to the doctor?” he asks quietly. 

George shakes his head and takes a step back, pressing his back against the wall. He can already tell that this is a conversation he doesn’t have enough mental energy to have. 

“I’m fine. Lets go to the park,” George says, giving Lafayette a pointed look. Lafayette narrows his eyes. 

“Your clothes don’t fit anymore.” 

“They fit fine,” George says defensively.

“You look sick, George. I mean, you really look awful. It’s…” Lafayette looks away and swallows. “It’s hard for me to see you like this. I hardly recognize you anymore.” 

“I’m not going to the doctor. I’m fine.” 

“I think you should really consider it. Maybe you can get on an antidepressant or anti-anxiety medicine. That might help.”

“I’m fine,” George snaps. 

Lafayette holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. If you want to wallow in self pity and waste away locked in your room, then be my guest.” 

George swallows and looks away. He clenches and unclenches his fists. 

“I’m fine.”

“You haven’t eaten an actual meal since Martha died.” 

“That’s not true—”

“Bullshit. It’s been three weeks and you can barely keep soup down. It’s like you’re living off of Pedialyte, which _isn’t_ healthy, George.”

“Gilbert, please,” George practically begs. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You never want to talk!” Lafayette shouts. “I can’t take this anymore. Do you know how hard it is to watch you self destruct?”

Adrienne walks up and grabs Lafayette’s arm. “Can you two please go into a room?” she hisses. “Geo can hear you and it’s upsetting him.” 

Lafayette nods and pulls George into his bedroom. His face heats up when Lafayette looks around at the mess on the floor. George used to be so organized.

George sits on the bed and holds his head in his hands.

“I just want to help you, George,” Lafayette says. “That’s all I want. I’m scared.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’m a grown man, Gilbert. I can take care of myself.”

“No you can’t!” Lafayette rubs his face agitatedly. “No you can’t take care of yourself, George. You can barely get out of the bed.”

“It’s hard, okay? Being alive is so fucking hard. It’s physically and mentally exhausting. I mean, do you think I _like_ feeling nauseous all the time? Do you think that I’m having a good time when I’m so tired that I can’t get out of bed?” George shouts, getting up off the bed and glaring at Lafayette. “I just want it to stop. It’s too much. Every fucking day is too much for me to handle.” George sits back down and drops his head into his hands as he starts to cry. He cries all the fucking time. 

“George,” Lafayette says softly. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you.” Lafayette sits next to him and rubs his back.

“It’s fine,” he hiccups. “I can’t, I cry all the time. It’s so fucking annoying.” 

“I really think it’s time to talk to someone,” Lafayette whispers. “Maybe you won’t feel so bad if you get some help.”

“I just want my wife back,” George whispers. “I survived a war and then she gets cancer? How fucked up is that?” George sobs, and Lafayette wraps an arm around him. 

“I know, George,” he says softly. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“It’s not fair. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I already lost my brother. Isn’t that enough? I just don’t understand.” 

Lafayette doesn’t say anything. He just sits with George and holds him close. 

When he finally stops crying, he gets in bed and curls up as tightly as he can, trying to hold his body together. It feels like he’s slowly cracking open and his insides are leaking out. His head is pounding and his stomach aches, but he takes an Ambien and he floats into the abyss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so angsty omg. Comments are always appreciated!


	2. A Bed for One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex isn't in this chapter either, but he's going to be in the next one!

George and Lafayette are eating lunch in his office. George is stretched out on one of the couches, his half-eaten sandwich sitting on the coffee table. Lafayette is sitting on the couch across from him, his legs casually crossed. He heartily digs into a taco salad. 

“Have you thought about the bed?” Lafayette asks, covering his mouth with his hand. George scowls and shakes his head. 

“Nope.” 

“You can’t keep sleeping on a blow-up mattress on the floor,” Lafayette says. George looks over at him and rolls his eyes.

“Yes I absolutely can.”

“George. Get a new bed.” Lafayette finishes his lunch and narrows his eyes. “And finish your sandwich.”

“I’ll save it for later, and I don’t want a new bed.” George takes a breath and gives Lafayette a more serious look. “I can’t think about that yet. Getting _rid_ of our bed was hard enough. Getting a new one? I’m not there yet.”

Lafayette sighs and looks over at the fire crackling in the fireplace. 

“You know you could always move into the governor’s mansion.”

George makes a face and shakes his head. “It would feel like I lived in a museum. Plus, I like my house. It’s just… I’m taking it one step at a time.” 

Lafayette nods and shifts his weight, recrossing his leg. “The senate is going to pass that bill tonight,” he says. 

George lets out a small sigh of relief at the change in topic. “Yeah. I’m going to veto it tomorrow. It’s a horrible bill.” George shakes his head and yawns. “It makes our state look awful.” He closes his eyes, feeling the familiar tug of exhaustion that always seems to hit him mid-day. It’s like his body just runs out of energy. He can feel the wisps of depression edging themselves into his mind, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. Usually he can hold it off until he gets home—the painful, heart wrenching sadness that hits him like a ton of bricks, bowling him over and leaving him for the vultures. Some days are worse than others, and he’ll have to leave in the middle of the day. There are still days where he can’t even get out of bed. 

Eight months since Martha died and it’s still painful. 

There are still nights he spends in the bathroom hunched over the toilet. He still wakes up screaming from nightmares. The littlest things can still make him sob like a child.

He wears Martha’s wedding ring on a necklace around his neck, and he instinctually wraps it in his hand, squeezing it so hard that it leaves a circle imprinted in his palm.

Lafayette must notice him slipping, because he tosses a packet of taco sauce at George’s face. It hits him in the cheek and falls to the ground. George looks over and rolls his eyes, pushing Martha’s face to the back of his mind. 

“There are more productive ways to get people’s attention you know,” he deadpans. 

Lafayette smiles and shrugs. “You were off wherever it is you go when you brood. What’s wrong? You look sad.”

George sighs, squeezing Martha’s ring again. 

“I’m not having the best day,” he says truthfully, staring up at the ornate ceiling. The fire crackles and pops in the otherwise quiet room.

“I’m sorry. If you need to go home, I can get Jay to take over for you. I don’t think there’s very much stuff on your schedule today.”

“I took yesterday evening off. I can’t take a half-day today.”

“George, Dr. Man said that you shouldn’t push yourself too hard,” Lafayette protests. “Go home if you need to.”

“I’m fine, Gilbert. Don’t worry.” George sits up and straightens his tie. “I should probably do some actual work, though.”

Lafayette studies his face for a few long seconds before he nods and stands up, gathering the trash off the table. 

“Fine. But you better finish this sandwich later.”

George won’t finish it, but he promises Lafayette he will anyway. Lafayette knows he’s lying, but George is thankful that he doesn’t press him on it.

\---

When George gets home, he gets himself a glass of whiskey and sits on the couch. Dr. Man urged him to go out on the evenings, but he doesn’t know what he would do. He’s the governor of Virginia. He can’t exactly go around casually hanging out.

Plus, he prefers to be alone anyway. Being around people is exhausting, and after a long day of work, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Instead, he spends his nights drinking a couple of glasses of whiskey and doing aimless stuff on his computer. 

On the days where he feels better, he spends time with Geo. He’s gotten pretty good at throwing a baseball. He recently turned six, and George gave him a nice, leather baseball glove. The boy was ecstatic. 

On particularly good nights he goes to dinner with the Lafayettes. Sometimes they go out to nice, discreet restaurants. Other nights they drop Geo at his grandparents’, cook a meal together, and drink a little too much wine.

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. The sad, hollow feeling he managed to stave off for the rest of the day is creeping back up on him, seeping in through his pores, invading his body cavities, and intertwining itself into the strands of his DNA. 

George wearily stands up and puts the glass tumbler in the sink. His Ambien bottle is sitting on the counter and he picks it up. He shakes it and listens to the pills rattling around. Sometimes he imagines dumping the entire bottle into his mouth, though he knows it won’t kill him. He’d have to create a stockpile for that. Some nights—like tonight—that thought is appealing.

He rubs his face and squints at the time on the microwave. It’s only eight at night. Going to sleep now would be a little pathetic, but George is exhausted, and he can feel a headache building at the base of his skull.

So bed it is. He taps out an Ambien and sticks it into his pocket so he won’t lose it. He tries not to take them every night, which is why he leaves them in the kitchen, but he’s going to need one tonight. 

He decides to shoot Lafayette a quick text so he doesn’t get worried if George doesn’t respond. 

_Just letting you know that I’m not feeling very well so I’m going to sleep. See you tomorrow morning. GW_

George is changing out of his clothes when his phone starts to ring. Lafayette’s name flashes on his screen. 

“Are you okay?” Lafayette asks as soon as George answers. George sighs and sits down on the blow-up mattress that now serves as his bed. 

“Yeah. I’m just tired.”

“Well, if you still feel bad in the morning, just tell me and I’ll take care of it.” 

“Thanks.” 

“If you start to feel really bad, call Dr. Man. He’s here to help you, George.”

“I know. Thanks Gilbert.”

\---

As soon as George wakes up, he knows it’s not going to be a good day. His limbs feel too heavy to lift; he’s nauseous; he has what he knows is going to be a migraine; when he sits up he’s hit with a wave of dizziness that makes his unsettled stomach churn uneasily.

He curls back up and gets his phone. He calls Lafayette. 

“Hey George. I was just about to call you. You want to eat breakfast together when we get to the office?”

“Actually I’m calling in sick. Can you tell Jay?”

Lafayette is quiet for a few seconds before he sighs. “Of course. Feel better George. If you need anything, Adrienne can come over. Geo’s at school, so she doesn’t really have much to do.”

“Right. Thanks. Have a nice day Gilbert.”

He doesn’t leave his bedroom the entire day, hardly even gets up from his blow-up mattress. 

\---

The next day he makes it to work, and Lafayette is waiting for him in his office. He has a plate with toast and a glass of what George figures must be Pedialyte. 

“Hey George,” he says. “I got you some breakfast.”

George nods at sits at his desk. Lafayette sets the plate and glass in front of him, giving him a pointed look. “Eat.”

George sighs and eats a piece of toast and drains about half the glass. Lafayette seems satisfied, and he gets someone to take the food away.

“I need to veto that bill. Can you get Contee and tell him to prepare a press release?”

“Of course.”

“If anyone asks for an interview, tell Contee to notify you. I trust your discretion on who we accept and who we don’t. I’ll take one interview personally, but you should do the rest.”

“As usual,” Lafayette says with a mock salute. He grins. “I’ll get everything together.”

“Thank you Gilbert.”

Lafayette nods and leaves the office with another dramatic salute. 

George sits back in his comfortable, red leather chair and lets out a breath, buzzing his lips. Focusing on his work always makes him feel better. He shifts his attention to some pardon requests.

Lafayette and Meade, one of his aides, bring him the bill a little while later, and he promptly vetoes it. He smirks when he finishes.

“That’ll teach those Republicans to try to fuck with my gun control legislation,” George says as he hands Lafayette the bill. Lafayette nods and a smile twitches at the corner of his lips. 

“Definitely, Governor.”

George’s desk phone rings, startling him. “You two can go. Thank you,” he says before picking up the phone. “Hey Charlotte, what’s up?”

“Governor,” his secretary says, “Senator Rensselaer is on the phone for you.” 

George is momentarily taken aback before he tells Charlotte to put him through. 

“Hello Governor Washington,” the Senate minority leader says. George swallows and sits up a little straighter in his chair. 

“Good morning Mr. Senator” George says smoothly, putting on his ‘politician voice.’ How can I help you today?”

Rensselaer laughs and it settles some of George’s nerves.“Governor, I just wanted to congratulate you on your decision to veto.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” George says. “I just signed it actually.” George nervously taps his fingers on the desk. “I’ve gotta protect my legislation, you know?”

“Of course” Rensselaer pauses. “Look, Governor Washington, as the Chairman of the DNC, I want to be completely transparent with you. We’ve started doing some preliminary vetting.”

“For the election?” George says slowly. 

“Yes.” 

George takes a deep breath. “And you’re vetting me?”

“For the presidency, yes. We need a strong candidate who straddles the line between the left-wing and more moderate sides of the party. You’re that candidate.”

“Look, Senator—”

“Don’t say no just yet,” Rensselaer cuts in. “Just think about it. I know you’ve had some… personal issues… lately, but you should still think about it. Nothing will be starting for at least two years, but we like to get a head start.”

“Who else is running?”

“von Steuben. He’s a great candidate but a little too polarizing. You would be a perfect candidate to appease both sides of the party. And we’re pretty confident you could beat whoever the Republicans put up. Everyone loves a fresh face. Please think about it?”

George sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright; I’ll think about it.”

“Great. I’ll keep you updated. If you make a decision, don’t hesitate to call me.”

“I won’t. Have a nice day Mr. Senator.”

“You too Governor.”

The line goes dead and George slumps back in his chair. His heart is hammering in his chest. The DNC wants _him_ to run in the primary. He shakily calls Lafayette in.

“George? What’s wrong?” He asks as soon as the door is shut behind him.

“The Senate minority leader just called me.”

“Stephen Rensselaer?”

“Yes.”

Lafayette frowns and sits in one of the chairs in front of George’s desk. “Why is he calling you?”

“They want me to run for president.”

Lafayette’s mouth falls open and he gapes at him. “Holy _shit_.”

“I know,” George says, shaking his head. He starts to laugh, a loud belly laugh makes him grab his stomach. Lafayette starts laughing too, doubling over in his chair. They must look ridiculous. 

George laughs until tears are streaming down his face. When he finally stops, they sit there in silence, panting. 

“I can’t believe they want you to run for president,” Lafayette says once he catches his breath. “I mean I can because you’re amazing, but also that’s crazy to think about.”

“Yeah…” George trails off and settles back in his chair, looking at a spot on the wall past Lafayette. 

“You’re going to say yes, right?”

George meets Lafayette’s eyes and frowns. “I don’t know.” 

“George, you have to,” Lafayette says, his eyes wide. “When one of the leaders of the Democratic Party calls you up and tells you they want you to run for president, you do it.” 

“I sleep on an air mattress because I’m not emotionally stable enough to buy a new bed. I still spray my dead wife’s perfume sometimes. I started crying the other day because I found a bottle of her body wash when I was looking for a bar of soap under the sink. I can’t run for president.”

Lafayette winces and looks away. He chews his lip nervously. “George,” he says gently. “Campaigning won’t start for at least two years. Surely you’ll feel better then.”

“Voters don’t like single men.”

“You’re not single; you’re a widow. There’s a difference.”

“Is there? People will think I’m weak. It’ll be all ‘oh poor George Washington with his dead wife. It’s a shame he can’t get over it and get himself a new one.’” 

“I don’t think you’re giving the American people enough credit.”

“And you know, I haven’t even thought about the whole bisexual thing yet. How’s it gonna go over when they find out I dated guys in high school and college?”

“They won’t have to. It’s pretty easy to cover those things up.”

“Great. So I’ll be living a lie.”

Lafayette winces again. “You should stop focusing on all the negatives of the situation. Think about how fucking amazing it’ll be when you’re president.”

George rubs his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a little bit with lunch.”

“Thanks,” George sighs. He sits up and starts working on planning out a new infrastructure plan that he wants to share with his advisors later. He tries to focus on his work, but he can’t stop imagining himself running for president—thinking up slogans, picturing a logo, building a policy platform. 

President Washington. 

It doesn’t sound half bad. 

\---

Lafayette comes back with lunch and they move to relax on the couches. Today Lafayette hands him a chicken wrap. He looks at it, frowning, and Lafayette rolls his eyes. 

“There are no tomatoes.”

“Thanks,” George says, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just not very hungry.” 

Lafayette takes a particularly large bite of his meatball sub and glares at George. “Eat,” he orders after swallowing. “You need to eat.”

George reluctantly takes a bite. It tastes like nothing and settles in his stomach like a brick. Lafayette watches him closely, and George offers up a weak smile. 

“Thanks.”

George doesn’t really feel like talking, and they eat in comfortable silence. He finishes about half of his lunch before he throws it away. Lafayette gives him a disapproving look. 

“You could at least pretend to save it for later,” he huffs, a hint of a smile on his face. George smiles sheepishly.

“You know I’m trying, right? I really am. I promise.”

“I know. I’m proud.”

George lays down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Do you really think I’d make a good president?” he asks softly. 

“Of course.” Lafayette sounds surprised that George would even think to ask that. 

“Why?”

“We don’t have enough time for me to list all the reasons why you would be a fucking amazing president.”

George chuckles and rubs his face. “Would you be my campaign manager?”

“Duh.”

“I’m still thinking about it,” George says, glancing over at Lafayette. “Don’t get too carried away.”

“I’ll try.” Lafayette taps out something on his phone and smiles. “Check your phone. I’ve compiled a list of bed frames and mattresses you might like. Pick one of each and order them.” 

George’s stomach drops and he swallows. “What? Gil, seriously, I’ll get it taken care of myself. I don’t… I’m not ready yet. As soon as I get a new bed, it’s really over. I mean sure I got rid of the other one, but replacing it with a new one is so final. It’s really over after that.”

“Order a new bed, George.”

“Gilb—”

“You can do it. I know you can.”

George blinks against the tears he feels pricking at his eyes; he tries to breathe against the anxiety tightening his chest. His stomach churns and he sits up so he can hang his head over. 

The couch dips as Lafayette sits next to him. He rubs George’s back slowly. 

“Hey, just breathe. You’re okay.”

George doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods and takes a shaky breath. 

“You don’t have to do it today, but it needs to be soon. You need to start building a new life. A life without Martha.”

George makes an embarrassing whimpering sound and covers his face with his hands. He hasn’t cried at work in months, and his face burns in shame. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages to say. “It’s just been a really bad couple of days.”

“It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

George sucks in a deep breath and tries to force himself to stop crying, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes. 

“I’m gonna get some more work done on this infrastructure plan. Thanks for lunch.” George gets up and goes to his desk. He picks up his pen and tries to start writing, but his hands are shaking too badly. 

Lafayette stares at him for a few seconds before sighing. “Have a good rest of your day.” 

George opens up his email and stares at the long list of blue links, neatly divided into either the ‘mattress’ or ‘bed frame’ category. 

He closes his email and throws up his lunch in his private bathroom.

\---

It’s been five days since Lafayette sent him the email, and George keeps opening it up to stare at it. On the third day he finally opened the individual links and clicked through them. Yesterday he picked out which ones he wanted. 

Now he’s staring at his cart with the two items in it. His credit card and delivery information is all typed in. All he has to do it press ‘complete order.’

His finger is frozen on the trackpad. All it would take is the slightest bit of pressure, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He takes a shaky breath. 

“I’m really sorry, honey,” he says to the empty room. “I don’t want to do this. You know that. It was hard enough moving our bed to storage. I don’t know why this feels so final. I guess I’ve always had the thought in the back of my mind that I could get our bed out of storage any time… But if I have a new bed then it’s done. Our bed won’t be my bed anymore.” A tear falls down George’s face and he doesn’t bother to wipe it away. It lands onto his laptop and makes a small puddle. 

He wraps his hand around Martha’s ring and squeezes it as tightly as he can. 

“I love you, Martha.”

He completes his order.

George shakily gets up and goes into the bathroom. He stares at his gaunt face in the mirror. He barely recognizes himself anymore. 

“I’m sorry for moving on without you,” he whispers, watching his mouth move in the mirror. He leans over and halfheartedly washes his face. 

He changes out of his clothes and curls up on the blow-up mattress. He’s hit with a wave of heat and he kicks the blankets off. 

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can feel Martha’s slender body in his arms. It hurts him to realize that the memory of her weight in his arms is fading more and more each day. One day, he knows he won’t remember it at all. 

He glances over at Martha’s closet. He leaves the door open so he can look inside. Her things are all still there. Sometimes it’s like she’s just on a trip, and he’s waiting for her to come back. 

He rolls over onto his other side and blinks back tears. He closes his eyes and tries his best to imagine Martha’s warmth there beside him.

“I think I might run for president,” he says softly. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

“It’s going to be a big time commitment, and it’s going to be exhausting,” the Martha in his head tells him. 

“I know, but I would get a chance to be president. I think I could beat von Steuben. He’s too far-left for any of the establishment Democrats to stomach. I don’t know who the Republicans would run; I know they all love Jefferson, the Senate majority leader. I’ve heard he’s an asshole.”

“I think you should do what you want, George. No one can tell you what to do. You have to make this decision yourself.”

“Yeah…” George sniffs and takes a shuddering breath. “Do you think I’d make a good president?”

“Of course, sweet love. You’re the best man I know. The country would be lucky to have you.” 

“I’ll call Rensselaer tomorrow then.” A sob wracks George’s body, and he rolls over to press his face into his pillow. “I love you.” 

George’s tears soak his pillow as he continues to shake with sobs. 

Later, after he doesn’t have any tears left to cry, he reminds himself of what he knows. 

Martha is dead. He is alive. He is going to run for president.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated as always!


	3. Enter: Alexander Hamilton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex is finally here!

“Okay, so, I’ve got some resumes for you to look at,” Lafayette says, handing George a file folder with the words ‘Head Speech Writer’ scrawled on the front. 

George groans and finishes off his glass of wine. “Hiring people is so boring,” he jokingly whines. Lafayette thumps him on the head and rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve already narrowed it down to like three people. It shouldn’t be too hard.” Lafayette goes back into the kitchen and returns with the bottle of wine. He pours them both another glass, filling them up to the brim. George quirks an eyebrow and smirks. 

“You trying to get me drunk, Gil?”

“Hey, everything is more fun when you’re drunk, even hiring campaign staffers.”

George laughs and opens the folder. “If only Adrienne knew what a child you are when her and Geo aren’t here.” 

Lafayette shoves at George’s shoulder and flips on the TV. 

“Yeah whatever. We’re having fun, aren’t we? Adult sleepovers are fun.”

George almost chokes on his wine, and he doubles over to cough for several seconds. When he recovers, he sits up and gives Lafayette an exasperated look. 

“Please don’t ever refer to me staying over at your house as an adult sleepover ever again. That’s seriously creepy, Gilbert.”

“You’re disgusting. Get your head out of the gutter, Governor.” 

George shakes his head and takes several long sips of his wine. “You’re going to be the death of me one day.” 

“Yeah whatever. Pick your fucking speech writer already.”

George flips through the folder and studies the resumes, scanning over them. 

“Who had the best interview?” George asks, not looking up from the papers spread across the coffee table. 

“Alexander Hamilton,” Lafayette says without skipping a beat. “By far.”

“So he’s your favorite?”

“Yeah definitely. He honestly seems a little over-qualified, but oh well. It’s the job he applied for.” 

George finishes his wine and absently chews on his lip. 

“Alright, lets hire him then. Should I call him?”

“Nah. I’ll call him. Now, enough about the campaign. We’ve got baseball to watch and wine to drink.”

“Baseball is boring,” George mutters as he refills his glass and scoots over on the couch, stretching out a little more. 

“Oh fuck off. I know you like looking at their asses,” Lafayette teases. 

“Shut up,” George mutters, glaring at Lafayette. Lafayette immediately holds his hands up and nods.

“Sorry. No sex-related jokes, right.” 

“Don’t patronize me,” George grumbles. He gets up and goes into the kitchen to check on the pizza baking in the oven. 

“Aw, George, come on. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

It’s been almost two years since Martha’s death, and George is slowly learning to move on. He crafted a new normal, a new life. Martha’s things were cleaned out and put in the attic; his appetite came back; he stopped crying all the time. There are still bad days, sometimes even week-long stretches where the depression settles back into his bones and the gaping hole in his chest opens back up into a sucking wound that saps away his energy and destroys his carefully constructed routine. 

He’s not as carefree as he used to be, and his anxiety is still a constant problem. His panic attacks aren’t as frequent, but when they do happen, they’re awful, leaving George feeling drained.

And, to top it off, he hasn’t had an erection since she died. 

Of course, he’s not exactly interested in having sex. He can’t begin to fathom giving up that part of himself to someone other than Martha. Just the thought makes him feel sick. To George’s mortification, Lafayette brought it up with him a while ago, urging him to at least _try_ to get it up. 

So George tried. And failed. 

He opted not to tell Lafayette, too humiliated to admit that he couldn’t even get himself hard. 

George gets himself a glass of water and goes back into the living room. 

“Sorry. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“You could talk to Dr. Man about it. I’m sure he’s heard about tons of dudes’ sex lives.”

“Well mine isn’t going to be one,” George snaps. Lafayette sighs and pats George’s shoulder.

“Alright. I won’t bring it up again. I promise.”

George tips his head back and finishes his wine.

\---

“Hello Governor Washington. Alex Hamilton at your service.”

George gives the guy a once over, taking in the dark eye bags and long hair, the slightly rumpled suit, and the wide grin. His eyes have a mischievous glint to them.

“Hi Alex. It’s nice to meet you.” George extends his hand, and Alex grips it firmly. He has a surprisingly strong handshake, and his hands are warm and soft. When they drop hands, George misses the warmth. 

“So,” Alex says, smiling. “I’ve been listening to some of your speeches to get your cadence down, but I’m still working on it. The longer we work together, the easier it’ll get. Good thing we’ve got lots of time to practice.” 

George nods. “Sounds good.”

“If you’d like, I can show you your campaign announcement. I’ve got some preliminary ideas written down.” He shoots George another wide grin, and George can’t help but smile back.

“Okay, sure.” George motions Alex over to the couches. They’ve been doing some work out of his governor’s office while he looks for a campaign headquarters. 

George expects Alex to sit across from him, but he plops down right next to George, so close that their shoulders are touching. George tenses up a little and has to remind himself to breathe.

“Lafayette sent me your platform,” Alex says, oblivious to George’s discomfort, “and I know it’s a rough draft, but I went ahead and went off that.” Alex pulls his laptop out and opens up a document. “Here you go.” 

George soundlessly picks up the laptop and scans the speech. It’s good. Alex clearly has a way with words. 

“I like it,” George says. Alex looks at him expectantly, like he’s waiting for George to say more. George furrows his eyebrows and swallows nervously. 

“I’m assuming that you’re a man of few words,” Alex says, studying George’s face. George feels his cheeks heat up. 

“I guess so.”

“Why are you so tense? You afraid of me?” Alex teases. George shakes his head quickly. 

“It’s been a really long day.” 

As soon as George says it, he wants to take it back. It feels too personal.

Alex doesn’t seem to be fazed by it. He just nods and gives George a goofy smile. 

“Amen to that.” 

George smiles tentatively and relaxes a little into the couch, putting a little more weight against Alex’s shoulder.

“Do you like my platform?” he asks, turning to look at Alex. 

“Yeah it’s alright,” Alex says, smirking. George quirks an eyebrow. 

“Just alright?” 

“I mean, your foreign policy could use some work, but other than that I like it.” 

“What’s wrong with my foreign policy?” 

Alex grins and bumps George’s shoulder with his own. 

“I can’t give away all of my ideas, Governor” he says with mock indignation. “Maybe I’ll tell you, but you’ll have to earn it.” 

“Earn it? And how do I do that?” George asks, giving Alex an amused smile.

Alex grins mischievously and pats George’s thigh. “I think you’ll figure something out.” 

He squeezes George’s thigh before getting up. 

George watches as he stretches and starts to pack his things up. He bends down right in front of George, and George can’t stop himself from staring at Alex’s ass. It’s not bad. 

“So, when do you want to meet to actually get some work done?” 

George blinks and looks up, swallowing nervously. “Um, we can do tomorrow,” he says, flustered. “Or whenever you’re free.”

“Well, considering you’re the governor, I’ll let you schedule it for when _you’re_ free.”

George stands up and nods. He tries to take a breath and calm the erratic beating of his heart. He doesn’t know why, but Alex makes him nervous.

“Sounds good.” 

Alex smirks and gives him a very obvious once over. “It sure does. I look forward to working with you Governor Washington. I think our partnership is going to be very _fruitful_.” 

“Right,” George says dumbly, his mouth dry.

“See you soon, boss.” Alex grins and leaves the office, giving George one more wave at the door.

George suddenly feels dizzy, and he flops back down on the couch. He loosens his tie and strips out of his jacket. 

Alexander Hamilton just hit on him, and George kind of liked it.

\---

George tries not to watch the clock, but his eyes keep drifting to it anyway. Just like every day for the past three weeks, Alex is coming to work with him at two. It’s become his favorite time of the day. He catches himself staring longingly at the clock, counting down the long hours until he gets to see Alex.

George chalks it up to just enjoying the company of someone other than Lafayette. He doesn’t have very many friends, so a new person to interact with is always exciting. 

Or that’s what he tries his best to tell himself. 

“Good afternoon, Governor.”

George jerks his head up and sees Alex as he strolls into the office, his signature messenger bag haphazardly slung across his body. 

George immediately smiles. “Hi Alex.” 

“I went and added in your edits to the corn shit speech last night.” Alex pulls his messenger bag off and sits down on the couch. He rummages around in the bag for a few seconds before pulling out a slightly rumpled folder. “You wanna look over it?”

“Yeah sure.” George, says, trying to keep his tone neutral and not give away the fact that his heart is hammering against his chest. He sits on the couch and tries to leave a decent amount of space between him and Alex. Alex just scoots on over until their knees are touching. 

“The people of Iowa are gonna love you,” Alex says as George picks up the speech and starts reading over it.

“I like it,” George says once he finishes.

Alex rolls his eyes. “You say that about every speech.”

“Because I like every speech,” George says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright, well, lets hear you deliver it then.” Alex grins and nudges George with his shoulder.

George gets up and goes to stand in front of the fireplace at the front of the room. He takes a deep breath, but Alex holds his hand up. He hops up and walks over to George. 

“Straighten your back. You’re hunching over. You’re a tall dude, so let people see it. It makes you look more powerful.” Alex’s hands go to George’s back as he gently presses to straighten George’s spine. George’s breath catches in his throat as Alex’s hands linger for a few seconds. 

“Right, okay,” he finally says, clearing his throat. Alex quickly pulls his hands away and steps back. 

“Okay, you can go now.”

“Hello Iowa,” George starts. “If you don’t know me, my name is George Washington, and I’m running to be your Democratic nominee.”

“Stop,” Alex says. George frowns. 

“What’s wrong now?” 

“You’re mumbling. Look, George, I’ve watched your speeches online. They’re good. You’re a good speaker. What’s going on? Just stand up straight, look at me, and give the speech.” 

George shifts his weight and nods. 

He starts again, alternating between looking at the paper and looking slightly above Alex’s head, unable to make eye contact. He can feel Alex’s eyes on him as he speaks, his stare boring into George.

When he finishes the speech, he looks up to meet Alex’s eyes. His pupils are wide, and he’s looking at George so intensely that it makes George shiver.

“That was good,” Alex finally says, looking away. George swallows and sits back down on the couch. Alex turns to look at him and smiles kindly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

George furrows his eyebrows. “What?” 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Alex says again, enunciating each word slowly. “You should be more confident.”

“I am—”

“No. You’re just really good at faking it.” Alex shrugs and pats George’s leg. “It’s something else we can work on.”

He stands up and starts to gather his things.

“See you again tomorrow?” George asks, and he hates how eager and desperate he sounds.

Alex smiles. “Of course. We’ve only got a couple more weeks until you announce. We need to whip you into shape.” Alex gives George a mock salute. “Have a nice day Governor.”

“You too Alex.”

George watches him go and immediately misses his company and his mischievous, teasing grins.

Everything is completely fine.

\---

“You messed up that sentence again,” Alex says from his spot sprawled out on George’s living room couch. He tosses a tennis ball up and reaches up to snatch it out of the air with his hand. George groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Can you stop with the stupid ball please?” he asks irritatedly. Alex sighs but drops the ball onto the ground. 

“Okay. Take it from the top again.”

George takes a breath and starts to pace back and forth in front of the couch. The paper shakes in his hand, and he hopes Alex doesn’t notice. 

“My name’s George Washington and—”

“ _Relax_ ,” Alex shouts, sitting up on the couch. “You have to _relax_ or the American people are going to _hate_ you.” 

“I’m sorry,” George snaps. “We’ve been doing this for like two hours and I’m exhausted.” 

“Take it from the top,” Alex says, crossing his arms and looking at George evenly, chin jutted out. 

George clenches his fists and the paper crinkles in his hands. Anxiety is burning in his stomach, and he’s about two seconds from losing his shit on Alex, but he takes a deep breath and starts to pace again. 

“Stop pacing. Just stand up there and give the damn speech.”

“I’m trying,” George finally shouts. “I’m trying to give the speech, but you keep interrupting me every two words. I can’t fucking do this.” George throws the paper to the ground and stalks into the kitchen, slamming a cabinet open. He shakily pours himself a glass of water and drains it in two long gulps. 

It’s getting close to George’s announcement, and he and Alex spend most of George’s time outside of his governorship working on his speeches: His announcement speech, his Iowa stump speech, and his New Hampshire stump speech for now. They’ve grown steadily closer over the past couple of months, and George thought it would be a good idea for Alex to come over for dinner tonight so they could work late.

It wasn’t going great.

George was having a horrible day, and he thought about canceling on Alex earlier but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited to spend more time with Alex, but so far things weren’t going as planned. 

George had almost no appetite and could barely choke down the spaghetti he made. He could barely focus, and he felt uncomfortably on edge and anxious. Alex was, as usual, oblivious to George’s mood. George hasn’t decided if Alex has no social skills or if he just decides to ignore everyone else’s feelings. 

“Hey,” Alex says softly. George jumps and turns around, startled. Alex smiles sheepishly and holds his hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. Sorry.” George sets the glass down in the sink and leans against the counter. He stares at the ground, but he can feel Alex’s eyes on him. 

“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’m just… I can be a little much sometimes. I’m abrasive, obnoxious, annoying, arrogant—”

“No you’re not,” George cuts him off. “And I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t want to work on the speech anymore then I can come by your office tomorrow. It’s up to you, Governor.”

“You don’t have to call me that if you don’t want,” George says quietly, finally looking up to meet Alex’s eyes. 

“What? Governor?”

George nods. “I’m not a big fan of fancy titles. Everyone close to me calls me George in private. You can too, if you want. I figure we know each other well enough by now.”

Alex cocks his head and looks at him closely, his expression unreadable. 

“Lets hang out for a little bit. You seem stressed.” Alex goes and sits back down on the couch. George hesitates a second before following. He leaves a respectable amount of space between them. 

“Sorry I yelled earlier. I can be a little short-tempered sometimes.” 

“I honestly can’t believe we’ve made it this far without you yelling yet,” Alex teases. 

George only manages a weak smile, too tired to try to joke back. He can feel a sharp headache steadily building behind his eyes, and he has a stomachache low in his belly. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. 

“Seriously, are you okay?” Alex asks. George opens his eyes and turns to look at Alex. His hair shines in the low lighting in the room, and his eyes are bright and kind.

“I’m not having a very good day,” George says honestly. He doesn’t know why, but something about the way Alex is looking at him makes George feel like he can trust him. 

“Why?” Alex asks. There’s no fake sympathy or patronizing apologies. He just scoots over and looks at George, waiting for the answer. 

“Some days just aren’t good for me,” George says, not quite ready to divulge all of his sad dead wife feelings just yet.

“I get that.” Alex reaches over and puts his hand on top of George’s. He frowns and rubs one of George’s knuckles with his fingers. “Your hands are shaking.”

“Yeah,” George breathes. He’s painfully aware of the weight of Alex’s hand on his own, and his stomach is churning with anxious nausea. 

“You need to relax,” Alex whispers. He scoots even closer until their shoulders and thighs are touching. George sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Alex,” he halfheartedly warns. “I—”

“Shh,” Alex shushes him quietly. “I can help you relax.” He brings one hand up to trail down George’s cheek. 

“Alex,” George tries again, his breath hitching. Alex smirks and cups his face, stroking George’s cheek gently. 

“I know lots of ways to help you relax,” he practically purrs. He leans forward and presses his lips to George’s jaw. 

His facial hair is rough against George’s skin as he moves his lips up to just barely kiss the edge of George’s mouth. 

“Stop,” George shouts, pushing at Alex’s shoulders. “You can’t—not my mouth,” George says almost frantically. Alex scoots away and frowns, eyes wide.

“Look, George, I’m really sorry. I thought, well, I figured you were into me too,” Alex says quickly. “Holy shit, are you going to fire me?”

George barely registers what Alex is saying. Martha was the last person to kiss him, the last lips he tasted. Until now. 

“It’s not you,” George manages to say. “My wife died.”

Alex face falls and he stares guiltily at his lap. “I know. I shouldn’t have assumed you were, well, ready, or whatever.”

“I’m not,” George says firmly. 

“Yeah, I figured after that,” Alex says ruefully. “I’m really sorry, George. I’m super impulsive sometimes. You just seem so sad and stressed.” 

“I’m fine.” George’s voice trembles, and he inwardly curses himself for it. Alex looks at him guiltily, mouth pulled into a frown.

“Do you want me to get you some water or something? You look pale.” 

George shakes his head and rubs his forehead. 

“Actually; I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

He watches Alex’s eyes flicker over to the time on the TV box, watches him narrow his eyes when he sees that it’s only a little after 8. 

“Okay…” Alex starts to pack his things up. When he’s finished, he stands up and looks at George, staring right into his eyes. “I really am sorry, George. I didn’t mean to upset you. I misread the situation, and I hope you won’t hold it against me so that we can keep working together.”

“You didn’t misread the situation,” George says quietly. “I’m just not ready. For that.” George clears his throat and breaks the eye contact, staring over at the pictures of Martha and him on the mantel. “I like you a lot. But I can’t… it makes me so guilty that I feel physically ill.”

Alex makes a soft sighing noise, and he approaches George slowly. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Whenever you’re ready, if you ever are, I’ll be waiting.” Alex tentatively reaches out and squeezes George’s hand, wrapping George’s trembling fingers in his and encasing them in soft warmth.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Don’t apologize. Your wife died. I get it.” 

Alex releases George’s hand and smiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow at two?”

“Yeah. We should work on my Iowa speech.”

“You mean your corn shit speech?” Alex grins wickedly.

George walks him to the door and Alex hesitates for a second, watching George closely. 

Then he smiles and nods, and he’s gone. 

George barely makes it into the kitchen before he throws up in the trashcan. He gasps and leans over, bracing his hand against the counter. His stomach lurches painfully and he throws up again, coughing. 

When his stomach is relatively settled, he gets a glass of water and takes the trash out. 

He’s asleep by 9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super hard to write for some reason, so I'm sorry if it's not as good as the others. The next one is going to be super angsty again so get ready. As usual, comments are always appreciated.


	4. Cold is the Absence of Heat

George decides that he hates New Hampshire. 

He’s tired of constantly freezing his ass off.

Well, really, he’s just _tired_.

Campaigning for president isn’t fun. It’s exhausting and demanding, and George usually doesn’t get more than a few hours of sleep each night. 

But it’s also rewarding. He likes getting to talk to voters and hearing their ideas. He enjoys speaking and hanging around local businesses. Everyone is relatively nice, and they’re all willing to spend time talking to him. 

And he likes getting to be with Alex—

“Governor?” Burr asks. “Would you care to respond to Senator von Steuben’s attack.”

George snaps his head up and blinks, pulled out of his thoughts. They’re doing debate prep. Right. 

“Um, yeah, Sir, I understand your position on clean energy, but it isn't feasible to switch to clean energy all at once. Each state is different. What’s good for Vermont and California will hurt states like West Virginia and Alabama. We have to be mindful of all states and their economies. I want clean energy, but I want to do it right. That’s why I have a comprehensive plan that you can go read on my website—”

“No, Governor, don’t tell people to read stuff. It sounds like you’re giving them homework,” Alex cuts in. 

“What should I say then? It’s true; I have a plan they can read.”

“Just say you have a comprehensive plan on your website. That leaves the suggestion that people can go look at it without actually telling them to.”

“Okay. Got it.” George takes a breath and picks back up where he left off. “That’s why I have a comprehensive plan on my website. I don’t want to pander to Democratic voters by making promises I can’t keep. I’m only interested in doing what’s best for our country and implementing smart, achievable policies. The American people can’t afford an idealist with no solid policies to back up what he says.”

Alex nods. “That was good. Nice job, Governor.”

“Doesn’t it sound a little mean?” Angelica says from her spot next to Alex. A local high school is letting them borrow their auditorium, so Angelica and Alex are out in the theater seats, while Aaron is at a table up on the stage just like the debate moderator will be. Lafayette is at a podium next to George playing von Steuben. 

“I don’t think so,” Alex says. “We have to hit von Steuben hard.” 

“But we don’t want the Governor to sound like an asshole,” Lafayette pipes up, leaning on his podium. “That’ll turn people off and all the secret Democrat racists will be turned off and paint him as the ‘angry, violent black man.’ We have to be mindful of stereotypes, as sad as that is.”

George props his elbows up on his podium and holds his head in his hands. 

“Yeah, but we can’t go soft. The Governor has to portray strength. People like that,” Alex argues. “I really don’t think we should let up.”

Angelica shrugs. “I’d say we take a vote.” Burr and Lafayette both make small sounds of agreement. George blearily raises his head and rubs his eyes. 

“Okay all in favor of letting up,” Angelica says, “raise your hands.” Lafayette, Burr, and Angelica’s hands go up. Alex scowls and shakes his head. 

“Alright, whatever. von Steuben is gonna hit the Governor hard and then he’s going to look like a pussy when he doesn’t go more negative. Positive campaigns don’t work. Research backs it up.” 

George groans and drops his head back into his hands. He can feel a headache rapidly growing, and the bright lights of the stage aren’t helping. 

“Hey, Geor—Governor, everything okay?” Alex asks. It takes a monumental amount of effort for George to raise his head. 

“I think I need to take a break and get something to eat and drink.”

Lately, George has fallen into the bad habit of forgetting to eat. He’s so busy that itjust slips his mind. It leaves him feeling sick and achy after he pushes himself until he basically crashes, too exhausted to move. 

“Yeah, of course. Lets take 10,” Alex says, concern obvious in his voice. George wearily stumbles down the steps at the side of the stage, and Alex is at his side as soon as both of his feet are on the floor. “I’ve got a Gatorade and a Cliff Bar. I know you don’t like them, but they’re good to get your blood sugar back up and stuff. You gotta remember to eat, George,” he says softly. 

George nods and takes the the food. “Can we go get some air?” 

“Of course.” 

Alex leads him outside a side exit that opens up to the back of the school. They walk to the street and sit on the curb. It’s a Saturday so the school is empty.

Alex briefly lets his hand rest on George’s knee, squeezing it comfortingly. 

“Feeling any better?” he asks when George finishes the Cliff Bar. George shrugs and fights the urge to rest his head on Alex’s shoulder. 

“Not really, but I’m sure I will soon.”

“We gotta do a better job of making sure you eat.”

George smiles a little sheepishly. “Campaigning takes up most of my mental space. I’m surprised I remember to put both shoes on in the morning.”

Alex laughs, a beautiful, melodic sound that makes George smile. Alex quickly looks around, letting his eyes flicker back and forth. When he turns back to George, he presses a quick, chaste kiss to George’s lips. George kisses him back, a gentle amount of pressure, before pulling away. 

They were working their way up slowly. George was okay with kissing now, but they didn’t do anything past that. They very rarely even used tongue. George still has to fight back a sick sense of guilt when they’re together sometimes, but Alex doesn’t seem to mind. He’s patient, which continually surprises George. Alex doesn’t seem like the patient type.

“Hey,” Alex says softly. “What’re you thinking about?”

“You,” George says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Alex’s ears are tinged pink and he smiles almost bashfully before replacing it with a smirk. 

“So you don’t have time to think about fulfilling basic human needs, but you’ve got the time to think about me? Maslow would be so confused,” Alex teases. 

“I can’t help it,” George says honestly. Alex’s face softens again and he briefly reaches up to cradle George’s cheek. 

“We gotta get back in there. You need to drink some water now.” Alex stands and offers a hand to pull George up. George relishes in the feeling of Alex’s hand in his. 

When they walk back into the auditorium, Lafayette skeptically looks between them, his lips pursed. George chooses to ignore him.

Alex hands George a water out of the cooler they keep with them, and George heads back up the stairs, taking his place behind his podium. 

“Feeling better?” Lafayette asks. George nods and takes a long sip of his water. 

“Yeah. Much better.”

“Alright, we ready to start again?” Burr asks, picking up his question cards and tapping them against the table to straighten them. Lafayette and George both nod. 

“Okay, this is a question for both of you. Governor Washington will have the opportunity to respond first,” Burr says. “There is a lot of talk on the Republican side about reimplementing ‘stop and frisk’ policies in major cities like Chicago. What would you say to them about this policy?” 

“Stop and frisk is unconstitutional,” George says immediately, doing his best to keep an angry growl out of his voice. “It’s an inherently racist police tactic that doesn’t do any good. I’ve been stopped and frisked, and it’s humiliating and inefficient. It’s just a way to racially profile young black men, who are already unfairly treated by our criminal justice system. Too many young black men are in jail and instituting stop and frisk policies will only add to that growing problem. I am wholly against stop and frisk.” 

George takes a deep breath and loosens his hold on the podium; he was gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“That was really good, Governor,” Angelica says. “Maybe go into more detail about the time you were stopped?” 

George nods and takes another calming breath. Sometimes politics makes him so _angry_. It’s unfathomable how blatantly racist people can be and still get away with it.

“Right, I’ve been stopped and frisked and it’s humiliating and inefficient. I was walking home after a veteran’s banquet. I was in my ceremonial military uniform, and a police officer stopped me and asked me if I stole it. Even when I showed him my ID and the name on the uniform, he acted like he didn’t believe me. Stop and frisk policies lead to the demonization of black men. There I was, home from serving my country and some police officer had the audacity to question and threaten me? That’s not how our criminal justice system should work.”

Alex was quickly typing on his laptop, recording the answer so George could practice it a little and not forget the basics of the answer. 

“Perfect,” Angelica says. 

Lafayette responds, but George barely listens. He’s watching Alex, who is currently making funny faces at George in an attempt to distract him. It’s obviously working. He barely manages to keep himself from laughing. 

“Governor?” Burr says loudly, making George jump. 

“What? Sorry?” 

“Senator von Steuben raised the point about civilian-police relations in your own city of Richmond. Would you like to respond?” 

George sighs and launches into his prepared answer, already tired of answering this question, which he knew von Steuben would hound him with.

When he finishes, Angelic and Alex come up on the stage. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for today,” Angelica says. She looks over at Lafayette and he nods in agreement. 

“Lets get an early night in,” he says. “We’ll start back here at eight tomorrow morning. No one better be late,” Lafayette says, giving Alex a pointed look. Alex is notoriously late to almost everything. Except meetings with George. 

George sighs in relief and immediately heads down the stairs. Their hotel is a short ride away, and they all file into the line of cars.

\---

Alex jogs up to George and catches up with him once they get to the hotel, grabbing his wrist. 

“Hey, you wanna hang out in my room?” he asks quietly. George smiles. 

“Yeah, sure. Let me just drop my stuff off in my room and change out of my suit.” 

When he gets to Alex’s room, he’s laying on the bed in athletic shorts and a t shirt. The news is on, playing quietly in the background. He’s idly scrolling on his phone. 

“Hey,” George says as he plops down on the bed. Alex sets his phone down and rolls onto his side to face George. 

“Hey. You wanna order room service?” George rolls onto his side too and laces his fingers with Alex’s. 

“Maybe in a little bit. You can get something now if you’re hungry.”

“I’ll order a pizza so you can have some later.” 

George stays curled up while Alex orders the pizza from room service. When he’s finished, Alex slides back under the blankets and pushes at George’s shoulder. “Roll over so I can hold you.” 

George does as he’s told, and he instantly relaxes when Alex snakes his arms around his waist. Alex plants gentle kisses on the back of George’s neck and shoulder. 

“Are you nervous about the debate?” Alex asks, his breath warm on George’s neck. George shrugs and puts his hand over the one Alex has resting on his stomach.

“Kind of. I feel like I’ll be more nervous once it gets closer. I honestly don’t really like public speaking, which is probably not a good thing considering I’m running for president,” George says.

“You’re good at it, and that’s really all that matters. As long as voters don’t know you’re nervous, then you’re golden.”

“Have you thought about running for office?” George murmurs. “You’re old enough to run for the House, you know.”

Alex laughs and squeezes George in a hug. “I’d make a horrible politician and you know it. I never know when to keep my fucking mouth shut.” 

“Yeah okay. You probably would be a horrible politician, but you’d be a good lawmaker. You’ve got great ideas. If only politics wasn’t such a shady, petty business.”

“It wouldn’t be if people didn’t suck so much,” Alex deadpans, nuzzling the back of George’s neck. George laughs and rolls over in Alex’s arms, wanting to see him. 

Alex reaches up to cradle George’s cheek, letting his fingers explore George’s face. His thumb presses against George’s lips, and he kisses it gently. Alex makes a small humming noise and presses a little harder, the implication behind his action clear. George lets Alex push his thumb into his mouth and he sucks on it, tasting the salty tang of Alex’s skin. 

Alex pulls his finger out and pushes himself up on his elbows so he can kiss George. He runs his tongue along George’s bottom lip, and George obediently opens his mouth, letting Alex’s tongue slip inside. Alex makes a small humming noise, and he tugs on George’s arm, urging George to roll on top of him. Again, George complies. 

He holds himself up with his arms and lays his body on top of Alex’s. He can feel Alex’s erection poking his hip, and George tries not to think about the fact that he isn’t even a little hard yet. Instead, he focuses on kissing Alex, easily taking the lead. He gently bites Alex’s lip and sucks on it before moving to place sloppy kisses into Alex’s neck. 

“George, baby,” Alex gasps as he pushes his hands up under George’s shirt and grips his hips tightly, digging his nails into George’s skin. George chuckles and grazes his teeth over Alex’s pulse point and takes Alex’s earlobe into his mouth. He sucks on it, and Alex groans quietly. 

Alex pushes his hips up and tries to grind against George. “You should, if you want,” Alex manages to say. George smirks and presses down so Alex can grind up a little easier. 

“I should do what?” George murmurs. 

“You should touch me,” Alex manages to say. He drags his nails up George’s back and rocks his hips up again. “Please?” 

George is about to answer when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Room service.”

“Fuck,” George hisses. “Stay here.” He climbs off of Alex and pulls his shirt on. When he opens the door, the room service guy is standing there with the silver platter and rolling tray. His eyes widen. 

“Oh, Governor Washington, I didn’t realize this was your room.” 

“I’m just spending some time with my staff members,” George says. “I’ll take that. Save you the trouble.” George reaches for the tray and holds his hand up. “Be right back.” 

George takes the food inside and sets it on the ground. He grabs his wallet and pulls out $50. “Here you go. Thanks.” George hands him the money and promptly closes the door. He sets the pizza on the desk and smiles at Alex still laid out on the bed, his erection tenting his thin shorts. 

“That was almost a close one,” Alex says. George nods and walks back over to the bed. There’s a thrum of nervous energy buzzing in his veins, and his stomach is tied in knots, but he realizes that he needs to do this. He needs to prove to himself that he can move on from Martha. 

He’s still embarrassingly soft, but Alex doesn’t say anything as George leans over and tugs his shorts and boxers down. He climbs back onto the bed and settles himself in between Alex’s knees, gently nudging them apart to make more room. 

“Don’t make too much noise,” George whispers. 

He tentatively wraps his lips around the tip of Alex’s cock. This is the first blowjob he’s given since he was in high school, but it can’t be too hard to pick the skill back up. He swirls his tongue around the tip, tasting the salty precum already leaking out. Alex makes a soft panting noise and grabs the sheets, arching his back a little as George starts to move, bobbing his head slowly. 

Alex moans, and George almost smiles. He figured Alex would be the kind of guy who makes a lot of noise. He wraps his hand around the base of Alex’s cock and jacks the part he can’t fit in his mouth. 

George pulls up and lets Alex’s cock slip from his mouth. Alex makes a little unhappy noise, until George leans over to nuzzle his nose along Alex’s inner thigh. He carefully sucks one of Alex’s balls into his mouth, and Alex almost shouts, his hips spastically jerking up. George sucks on the ball for a few seconds before licking a long stripe up the length of Alex’s cock with the flat of his tongue. Alex writhes and arches his back again. 

“George, holy shit, baby,” he gasps out. George starts to suck Alex’s cock again, tonguing the tip over into the side of his cheek. Alex reaches down and tugs on George’s curls, which is pretty impressive considering how short they are. 

He can tell that Alex is close by the little panting noises he’s making, so George gives it one last hard sucks, hollowing out his cheeks. Alex frantically taps George’s head, and George pulls off. He strokes Alex through his orgasm, enjoying the way Alex looks sprawled out on the bed, a lazy smile on his face.

When Alex is finished, George gets up and grabs a washcloth. He wets it with warm water and cleans his hand off. His heart is thudding hard in his chest, and he has to take a minute alone. He splashes some water on his face and takes a few deep breaths. Martha would be happy that he’s moving, he reminds himself. She would want him to be happy. He swallows past the lump in his throat and clenches his fists, his nails digging crescents into his palm. He can do this. Everything is fine.

Alex is shirtless when George gets back, his shirt bearing the brunt of the sticky mess. He’s sitting up, and he watches George closely as he climbs back onto the bed. 

“Lay down,” he practically purrs, his eyes dark. George’s stomach clenches nervously and he shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to. I don’t—I’m okay.”

“I want to,” Alex says, kissing George gently. 

“Alex,” George tries again, but Alex only kisses him again and rolls one of George’s nipples between his fingers. George remains soft, and he briefly wonders if maybe something is wrong with him, but that thought only causes a flash of anxiety to hit him, an icy, sharp feeling in his stomach and chest. Alex must notice, because he straddles George’s hips and soothingly rubs George’s stomach. 

“If you really want me to stop, I will. I don’t want to upset you,” Alex says softly. “But I want to help you feel good. You’ve been so stressed lately. You need to relax. Let me help you relax.” Alex is still rubbing his stomach, and his voice is gentle and kind, so George nods.

“Okay. You can… try,” he says awkwardly, alluding to the now very obvious fact that he’s not even a little hard. 

Alex smirks and reaches down to cup George through his sweatpants. He squeezes and starts to slowly knead George’s crotch while he leans over to kiss him, sucking a bruise at the base of George’s neck where no one will see. To his surprise, George feels the beginnings of a long forgotten heat low in his belly, but it’s barely perceptible, and another wave of anxiety and embarrassment seems to chase it away. 

Alex isn’t deterred. He just continues to squeeze George’s crotch and kiss him all over, sucking on and nipping his nipples, grazing his teeth along George’s collarbone, placing featherlight kisses along George’s jaw.

George finally feels himself starting to harden, and Alex grins. 

“Told you I could make you feel good baby,” he murmurs. George lifts his hips so Alex can tug his sweatpants off, and George again diverts his eyes. He’s barely even half hard. Alex wraps his hand around the base of George’s cock and starts to stroke him slowly, twisting his hand up as he goes. 

George closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on the pressure of Alex’s hand on his cock, but suddenly Martha’s face is there, and he vaguely registers himself making some strangled moaning sound. 

Alex’s hand is immediately gone as George’s cock softens, and he feels himself seize in panic. George needs to leave, needs to go to his room before he loses his shit and scares Alex away. He doesn’t want to think about Alex seeing him curled up in his bed crying. Very presidential. 

“Hey, George,” Alex says, waving his hand in front of his face. “Look at me; you need to take a breath okay?”

George blinks in confusion and nods. He opens his mouth and sucks in a ragged breath. His heart is hammering against his chest so loudly and quickly that it’s painful. 

“I need to leave,” George manages to say. Everything is so disorienting that George almost feels drunk. 

“Whoah, no you don’t,” Alex says, putting a hand on George’s chest when he tries to get up. “You’re panicking. You need to sit here and try to breathe. I’m gonna get you some water.” George nods, helpless to do anything but watch as Alex brings him a glass of water and helps him sit up. George’s hand is shaking so badly that he’s afraid he’s going to spill the water. 

“I’m sorry,” George says, his voice so far away and muted that it doesn’t sound like his own. 

“It’s okay.” Alex sits beside him and rubs his back, occasionally leaning over to gently kiss his shoulder. 

After an indeterminate amount of time, George’s breathing starts to slow and everything becomes a little less blurry and muted. George hangs his head and sighs, taking a deep breath to try to settle the churning in his stomach. 

“Do you think you’re gonna throw up?” Alex asks. George shakes his head and rubs his face. He sits up and looks away, staring at the wall, unable to meet Alex’s eyes. “Hey,” Alex says softly, reaching over to gently grasp George’s chin. He forces George to look at him, and his eyes are bright and kind. “It’s okay, George. I shouldn’t have rushed you like that. That was super shitty.”

“No,” George says quickly. “I’m just pathetic. My wife died two years ago, but I still can’t get a fucking erection. I mean, what the _fuck_?” George asks angrily. He’s so tired of being broken that he could scream.

“George, c’mon, don’t beat yourself up,” Alex says cautiously. “It’s fine. You’ve been through a horrible emotional trauma. It happens. Some guys have trouble with sex. It’ll pass.”

George shakes his head, disgusted with himself. “Don’t—please don’t try to act like this is okay. I need to go.” George gets up and grabs his wallet and phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow for debate prep.” 

George practically runs down the hallway, shaking with anger. He just wants to be normal again. As he flings his hotel door open and slams it shut, he’s hit with the realization that he hates Martha for dying, _hates_ her for leaving him here to suffer. He winds his arm back and throws his wallet at the wall as hard as he can. 

“Why the fuck did you have to leave me?” he snaps, flinging the decorative pillows off of the bed. “You left me behind and now I’m all fucked up. I’m running for president even though I’m not mentally stable enough to let someone jack me off. I mean, what the hell am I doing Martha?” He starts pacing, blinded by how angry he is. “This isn’t fucking fair. It’s been two years. When am I going to move on? I just want to feel again. That’s all I want. You know, some days I feel fine, almost normal, but I’m reality just fooling myself. I’m not happy. I’m fucking miserable. I go through the motions and everyone thinks I’m doing well. Gilbert is always telling me how happy he is that I’m doing better. If only he knew.” 

George abruptly sits down on the bed, dizzy from the onslaught of emotions hitting him all at once. His head is pounding in time with his erratic heartbeat, and his hands are shaking so badly that it hurts. 

“I shouldn’t be running for president,” he says bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I can do this without you.” George’s breath hitches and he sobs as tears start to run down his face. He shakily crawls into the bed and pulls the blanket up to his shoulders. 

He buries his face into the pillow and cries: Loud, messy hiccuping sobs that wrack his entire body and shake the bed with the force of them. George hasn’t cried this hard in a while, and he lets himself now. It’s okay to breakdown. That’s what Dr. Man always told him. 

So he breaks down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor George am I right. I love to make him suffer tbh. Comments always appreciated!


	5. Five Long Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is here! Sorry this took so long y'all; college is literal hell and finals are next week so. That's fun.

“George. You need to wake up baby. It’s almost eleven. You’ve got a call with Trudeau in like an hour and a half. You can’t blow off the Canadian prime minister.” 

George blinks and groans, already moving to pull the blanket up over his head, but Alex stops him, grabbing his wrist. “Nope. C’mon George.” Alex shakes George’s shoulder, and George groans again. 

“I don’t want to get up,” he says, his voice rough from sleep. “I don’t feel well.” 

Alex sighs and crosses his arms. “Do you have a fever?” he asks, a bit of a patronizing bite in his tone. “Are you actively throwing up? Do you have a headache?” 

George rolls his eyes and sits up. “Fine. I’m up.”

“You are a horrible liar, you know that right?” Alex asks amusedly. George glares at him, but Alex only smirks and shrugs his shoulders. 

“I thought I asked Betsy to clear my schedule,” George growls.

“We cleared this evening so you can go home, but you have to get a little bit done this afternoon, okay?” Alex asks, making his voice a little softer. He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs George’s back, feeling the wet places where he sweated through his shirt. “Did you have a nightmare last night?” he asks softly, kissing George’s shoulder. “You’re all sweaty.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to talk about it. I need to shower.” 

Alex nods and stands so George can get up. He raises his arms and stretches, and Alex admires the way his t-shirt comes up to reveal his stomach and the little line of hair that disappears below the waistband of his tight boxer briefs. 

“I’ll see you downstairs, okay? Remember, don’t take too long.”

George nods and goes into the bathroom. Alex sighs and heads down to Lafayette’s office, smiling and saying ‘hi’ to people as he passes by. Lafayette is sitting reclined in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk when Alex walks in. 

“Hey Alex,” he says, smiling. His expression grows grim when he sees Alex’s face, and he slowly sits up in his seat, sliding his legs off the desk. “Is he bad?” he asks, eyes filled with concern. Alex nods and sits on the couch along the wall. 

“Pretty bad.”

“Was he crying?” 

“No. He just seems upset and withdrawn. Maybe we should’ve kept his schedule clear.”

“Yeah,” Lafayette sighs, rubbing his face. “I thought keeping him busy might help. He always feels worse when he stays hidden away in his room.”

“I think he had a nightmare last night. He looked really tired.”

“Yeah, Tallmadge came down and told me that George was screaming last night.”

Alex winces, his heart clenching. He hates when George is sad; it makes Alex’s chest ache. 

“Well I better get going. See you in a few.” 

“Of course, Mr. Senior Advisor,” Lafayette says, his somber mood dissipating. Alex grins and waves before heading to his own office. George promoted him from head speechwriter to one of his senior advisors a few weeks ago, and Alex is loving it. Plus, the new head speechwriter, Hercules, isn’t too bad.”

Being a senior advisor also means that he gets a new, bigger, better office. It’s closer to the Oval, and Alex gets to spend more time with George since he’s there to provide counsel, not just write speeches. 

To his surprise, Angelica is waiting for him, sitting in one of the chairs he has in front of his desk. 

“Ms. Schuyler,” Alex says, bending himself over in a mock bow. “To what do I owe this pleasure on this fine morning?” he asks, taking on a funny, posh accent. Angelica rolls her eyes but laughs anyway. 

“Just wanted to let you know that we canceled the meeting with the Senate Republicans.”

“Why?” Alex sits down in his desk and starts logging onto his computer. “We kind of need to get this spending bill together like immediately.”

“I didn’t know if the president could handle all of that stress today, especially not right before he leaves for Virginia. I already talked to Jefferson about it, and he’s fine to reschedule for tomorrow.”

“You talked to Jefferson about what exactly?” Alex asks, narrowing his eyes. He can’t help but feel protective of George. Angelica gives him an odd look, arching one perfect eyebrow and pursing her lips. 

“I just told him that the president was needed in Virginia and wouldn’t be able to make the meeting today. Surprisingly enough, he graciously rescheduled.”

“Oh, okay. I just had to make sure that you weren’t going around advertising to Republicans that Geo—the president isn’t feeling emotionally stable enough to meet with them”

Angelica rolls her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Alex. Anyway, I’ve gotta get to work. See you in a few.”

“Phone call with Trudeau, right.” Alex nods and smiles, offering an olive branch after getting a little testy. Angelica smiles in return, as she always does, and leaves. 

Alex relaxes back in his chair and idly checks his email and scrolls through some news sites. He can’t help but glance at the clock. Only 10 hours until George goes to Virginia to see his dead wife.

\---

The senior staff all file into the office and pull up some chairs around George’s desk. Vice President Adams and Secretary Knox are also there, which makes Alex inwardly groan, but he manages to keep his face neutral when Adams shakes his hand. 

George looks absolutely exhausted, and Alex can’t help but notice the way his hands are shaking when he picks up a piece of paper. Alex smiles at him, but George only nods in return.

The call with Trudeau goes smoothly. He’s warm and funny, and he and George decide on a date for him to come visit the White House. George seems to loosen up a little, and he obviously likes the prime minister. When he finishes the call, Burr goes to write up a press release and get ready for his briefing. 

George curtly excuses Adams and chats for a bit with Knox. Angelica and Lafayette leave for a meeting, and finally Alex is alone with George.

“Hey big guy,” he playfully teases. “I liked Trudeau a lot.” 

“Yeah me too. He’s a good guy,” George says absently, obviously off lost in his thoughts. Alex walks around the desk and gently trails his fingers down George’s cheek. 

“How you holding up?” he asks softly, moving to rest his hand on the top of George’s head, combing through his small, coarse curls. 

“I don’t know,” George sighs. “Not great.”

“I’m sorry baby,” Alex murmurs. 

“It’s okay. I just want to get this day over with.” 

“I know,” Alex sighs. He leans over and kisses the top of George’s head. His hair smells fruity, and Alex takes a second to inhale, giving George another kiss. “I’ll see you later, okay? We can eat lunch together.” 

George nods and offers up a weak smile. “Okay. Sounds good.”

\---

Alex watches George push his pasta around on his plate, halfheartedly swirling it around his fork and taking a bite. His face twists into a grimace and he swallows hard. The look of disgust on his face is clear, and for a second, Alex thinks George might throw up. Instead he takes several gulps of his water and leans back in his seat. 

Lafayette is chatting animatedly with Herc, either ignoring or too distract to notice George’s bad mood. Angelica is also watching George closely, and Alex meets her eyes from across the table. She shrugs, her mouth quirking down into a frown.

“So, Mr. President,” Angelica says conversationally, smiling pleasantly, if not a little forced. “Did you enjoy your call with Prime Minister Trudeau?” 

George looks up at her and blinks, wiping a dazed look off of his face. He tries to contort his mouth into a smile, but it looks more like the grimace he was wearing a few minutes ago. 

“Yeah. He’s nice,” George says before falling silent again, still playing with the noodles on his plate.

“I’m excited for his visit,” Alex jumps in. “We haven’t had very many state dinners yet.”

George just shrugs and makes a small noise of agreement. Alex sighs and shifts his weight in his chair, fidgeting nervously. A somewhat uncomfortable silence descends over the table as Lafayette and Herc both stop talking. George is oblivious to it, completely lost in this thoughts. Angelica clears her throat. 

“Well, I should get back to work.” She stands up and a White House staffer comes to start clearing the plates. Hercules, Lafayette, and Burr all stand too, awkwardly mumbling their goodbyes. Alex is the only one who stays sitting, and he watches George wearily pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Hey George,” Alex says softly so he won’t spook him. “What’re you thinking about baby?”

George looks up and shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about my dead wife with you.” It comes out sounding meaner than George probably meant it to, and Alex tries not to let it bother him. 

“Alright. That’s okay.” Alex says. He starts to stand up but hesitates, half-in and half-out of his chair. He glances at George’s hunched figure, noting the wounded, pitiful look on his face. Alex sighs and sits back down. “You know, you really shouldn’t mope around like this, George.”

George’s head snaps up and he narrows his eyes. “What?” he asks, his voice sharp.

Alex stares at George, daring him to look away. “I said that you shouldn’t mope around like this. I thought you were stronger than that. It’s kind of disappointing, honestly. You expect us all to respect you, but you go around all sad and beaten down. You’re always the victim, George. It’s unbecoming.” Alex keeps his voice even, not mean but not kind either.

George’s expression is somewhere between angry and hurt, and Alex watches as the two emotions battle inside him. When he clenches his jaw, Alex knows that he’s decided on angry.  


“Don’t speak to me that way,” he spits out, eyes flashing angrily. 

“It’s not my fault that you never learned how to cope with the fact that your wife died a long, painful death or that your dad liked to slap you around when he got drunk or that your brother died an equally long, painful death or that you killed men in Iraq or that your mom resented you for being alive,” Alex says matter-of-factly. He watches as George’s face crumples. Alex tries not to let it show how much it hurts him.

“I don’t understand why you’re throwing all of this at me,” he says shakily. Alex’s face softens and he reaches over to take George’s hand. 

“Because you can’t keep feeling sorry for yourself, George,” Alex says softly. “I know it hurts, but you’re not the only person to experience loss, you know. At some point you have to pull yourself up and get it together.”

“Lafayette says the same thing sometimes,” George murmurs. He looks at Alex and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “It’s just so hard.” 

“I know; Lafayette and I’ve talked about it. And listen, I know it’s hard, but you really need to try. It hurts watching you get like this. It doesn’t do anything to help you, baby.”

George nods and drops his head into his hands. 

“Hey, look at me,” Alex says softly. George raises his head and meets Alex’s gaze. He blinks and a tear gets tangled in his eyelash. When he blinks again, it falls and creates a wet track down his cheek. Alex reaches over to gently thumb it away. “It’s going to be okay.”

George nods and swallows. “Thanks.”

Alex smiles and takes George’s hand. He squeezes it and George squeezes back. 

\---

The flight to Virginia is awkward and quiet. The only people accompanying George are Alex, Lafayette, and Adrienne, which makes Alex a little uncomfortable. He feels like he shouldn’t be here infringing on George’s moment with his family. These are memories of George’s past that Alex doesn’t belong in. 

Lafayette must sense Alex’s discomfort because he slides into the seat next to Alex and pats his arm. 

“George asked you to come because he needs you,” Lafayette says. Alex nods, realizing that, in this moment, George is not the president and Lafayette is not his chief of staff. They’re just two men whose lives were shaken by an impossible loss. They’re brothers, allies. 

Alex nods and shifts his weight. “I know. It just feels weird. I feel like I shouldn’t… infringe on this moment. You guys are a family that I’m not part of.”

“Obviously you are now,” Lafayette cuts in. “Look, I didn’t think I’d ever see George smile again. And if we’re being honest, I thought George was going to kill himself.” Lafayette’s breath stutters and he takes a breath, darting his eyes away. 

Alex feels a little sick, and he wants to tell Lafayette to stop talking, but he doesn’t. 

“It was a really bad time for all of us. Martha was one of my best friends, and then I had to sit around and watch the man who I love like a brother self destruct… It wasn’t an easy time. But you made him smile again. He’s more like his old self around you. I know that I told you to stay away from him during the campaign. That was wrong of me. I was just worried about the whole president thing, but whatever. You make him happy and, as George’s friend, that’s all I care about.”

“Thanks,” Alex says softly, unsure of what else to say. 

“You being here is a good thing. I’m glad you’re here.”

Lafayette gets up then and gives Alex a small smile before going back to his seat next to Adrienne.

When Air Force One lands, they shuffle into the motorcade waiting for them. It’s chilly, and the cold air goes right through Alex’s thin suit jacket. He follows George into his car and settles in next to him. George looks up and gives him a weary smile. 

“You good?” Alex asks. George swallows and nods. He grabs onto Alex’s hand and holds it tightly, encasing Alex’s delicate hand in his. “Thanks for letting me come with you,” Alex whispers.

“I wanted you here,” George says gruffly. Alex nods and kisses George’s knuckles. 

George stares out the window as the Virginia countryside blurs past them, and Alex keeps his eyes on George, studying his somber profile. His mouth is drawn into a frown, and his thick brows are furrowed, digging trenches into his forehead. He’s so young, but he doesn’t look it. He looks exhausted, weary, beaten down. 

“Hey,” Alex says softly, squeezing George’s hand to get his attention. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“Martha and I were married for almost 11 years. We met in college and married young,” George says instantly, as if the thoughts were begging to be let out. “She was 20 and I was 19. People thought we were crazy.” George smiles fondly for a second, a break in the stormy clouds gathered on his face. “But now she’s been dead for nearly half that time. I’m going to spend more of my life without her than I did with her.” George takes a deep breath and squeezes Alex’s hand so tightly that it’s painful. “That hurts to think about.” George’s voice is thick with emotions, and he clears his throat. “I think this day will always be hard,” George says softly. “I’ll always remember watching her die, always remember the sound of the doctor’s voice telling me it was over. Adrienne started to cry before I did. She whimpered and it was so sad; I wanted to tell her that it would be okay, but I knew it wouldn’t be. I literally got sick to my stomach right there. It was the most pain I’ve ever been in.”

Alex coughs and swallows past the lump in his throat. “I wish I could take the pain away.”

George looks over at Alex and shakes his head. “You’ve had just as much pain in your life. You’re more resilient than I am. You were right earlier. You and Gilbert are both right. I can’t keep moping around every anniversary of her death. I need to learn how to cope with, well, with everything.” 

Alex nods and smiles encouragingly. “You’re a brave man, George. You saved men’s lives in the war and almost lost your own life for it. You just need to find that man inside of you again.” 

As corny as it is, Alex places his hand over George’s heart, feeling the steady—if not a little fast—pulse under his skin. George cradles Alex’s face in his hands and kisses him gently. His lips are soft and warm against Alex’s own, and Alex can’t help the small sigh that escapes his lips. 

“I love you,” George says softly. 

“I love you too.”

The car rolls to a stop then, and they begrudgingly pull away from each other. They’re parked outside a simple yet ornate cemetery. Two marble pillars flank the wrought iron fence that surrounds it, and it’s extremely well kept. The grass is well manicured, and fresh flowers adorn many of the graves.

Some of the headstones are obviously old, made of rough stone and a little discolored from the long years outside unsheltered. A few have small cracks in them, but they’re not too bad. Some graves have ledger markers, smooth slabs of granite and marble that cover the length of the grave. There are a few taller, obelisks that stand out amongst the other smaller graves. Most of the headstones bear the name Washington.

Alex looks around and takes in the beautiful, untouched nature around him. He knows that the mansion is somewhere off to their left—they drove through the front gates and Alex saw it before they turned and drove down a smaller road to reach the family cemetery. George’s fruit garden is beside them, but the long rows of trees are already beginning to lose their leaves as the seasons turn. The trees won’t blossom or bear fruit for a long while. Alex assumes George will come down when they do and take a vacation. Working in his gardens always relaxes him. 

They walk slowly down the small, winding path that cuts through the center of the cemetery. The gravel crunches under their shoes, the only sound other than the increasingly cold autumn breeze. The sun is setting behind the trees, and the sky is a beautiful gradient of orange, pink, and blue.

The secret service agents are stationed outside of the cemetery, giving them a sense of privacy. Adrienne and Lafayette are huddled together, arms wrapped tightly around each other. Alex and George walk side by side a few steps ahead of them. Alex wants to reach out and hold George’s hand or tuck himself into George’s side, but it feels inappropriate for some reason. They’re never affectionate in the open. So instead Alex settles on walking as close to George as possible, letting their shoulders and fingers brush every few steps.

George finally comes to a stop in front of one of the newer looking graves. It’s a beautiful red granite, and it’s cut in a smooth curve with rounded edges. Martha’s full name—Martha Dandridge Washington—is engraved on a white scroll, and an intricately engraved flower adorns the top of the headstone. Alex doesn’t recognize the flower, and he stares at it, trying to place it. 

As if reading his thoughts, George says: “that’s a primrose engraved at the top. It symbolizes eternal love.” George approaches the grave carefully and kneels down in front of it. He traces the flower with his finger, following the design as if he were drawing it. He looks back at Alex and his eyes are wet with tears. “I wanted a flower that wasn’t too traditional. Her headstone needed to be special.” 

Alex hovers back a little, staying close to the path. He doesn’t want to infringe too much and watching George kneeling at his wife’s grave is making Alex feel that uncomfortable, uncertain feeling again. He shouldn’t be here, and he briefly thinks that it was almost selfish for George to bring him here. Alex could try to fool himself into thinking that this didn’t bother him, but deep down, no matter how awful it may be, he feels a little jealous of Martha Washington. It’s wrong, and he hates himself for thinking it, but he can’t help it.

Lafayette and Adrienne stand behind George where he continues to kneel in front of the grave. He rests his forehead on the grave and sobs, a guttural, wet sound that barely sounds human. Lafayette and Adrienne kneel then, dropping to their knees in the cold grass. They all huddle there together, arms around each other. 

George continues to cry, his shoulders shaking. Alex has never seen Lafayette cry, but his shoulders are just barely shaking too.

Alex hangs back and fights the urge to walk away. Watching his boyfriend—or whatever George is—break down at his dead wife’s grave is making Alex’s spine tingle uncomfortably. Five years is a long time to mourn somebody, and Alex wonders if George will ever actually get over Martha. Maybe he’ll live the rest of his life haunted by the memory of her. 

Alex watches as the sun completely sets, tucking itself down below the trees. The sky melts into a rich navy blue and stars slowly start to twinkle in the vast, open sky. Alex searches for constellations, craning his neck up to look. 

The sky is completely black by the time Lafayette and Adrienne manage to drag George away from the grave. He seems to sag in their arms, and his eyes are red and puffy. 

They clamber back into the waiting cars which will take them to the entrance of Mt. Vernon. George wanted to stay here tonight, so they’re going home in the morning. 

George immediately curls in on himself and leans his head against the window. Alex doesn’t know what to do, so he sits there silently, occasionally looking over at George. When the cars roll to a stop, George immediately gets out of the car, opening the door before the secret service can open it for him. 

Alex trails after him, wondering whether or not George will want him to stay with him tonight. Alex has ever only slept in the master suite with George. He barely knows where the other bedrooms are.

Lafayette walks up behind him and places a warm hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says softly. “I know it wasn’t easy.” 

Alex just nods, not knowing what else to say. He walks uncertainly up the stairs, but Tallmadge grabs his elbow. 

“Sir, your things are in the master suite with the president,” he says quietly. Alex nods, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Thanks Tallmadge.”

George is laying face down on the bed when Alex walks into the bedroom. His ragged breathing is the only sound in the room. Alex wishes he could turn around and walk back out, go find another bedroom to stay in, but instead, he takes a deep breath and climbs onto the bed. 

“Hey George,” Alex says softly. “You wanna change out of these clothes honey?” 

George rolls onto his side so he’s facing Alex and sniffs. “Not really.” 

Alex lays down too and scoots up close to George. He puts a hand on George’s hip and rubs their noses together, trying to get George to smile. It works, and George’s lip curl into a small, albeit brief, smile. 

“Why not?” Alex says. George sighs, his breath warm. 

“I don’t know. I’m tired of moving. I just want to lay here.” 

“Aren’t you concerned that your tie is going to choke you in your sleep? I’m pretty sure the Secret Service would label that as a hazard.” 

George manages a smile again and kisses the tip of Alex’s nose. Alex can feel some of the tension leaving George’s body and the wrinkles lining his face seem to lessen just a little as his face relaxes out of its somber scowl.

“Are you trying to get me undressed with a well planned logical argument?” George asks, his tone bordering on playful. Alex grins and moves his hand to tickle George’s side. George laughs, a delightful sound that Alex misses hearing. 

“Maybe I am,” Alex says as he tickles George again, leaning onto his elbows so he has more leverage. He pushes his fingers into the soft skin of George’s belly, feeling his carefully toned muscles below the slight pudge. George laughs again and squirms, trying to push Alex away. 

“Alex,” he gasps. “I think the secret service should label _you_ a hazard,” he manages to say in between fits of helpless giggles.

“Hmm, maybe I can make you piss your pants. Then you’ll _have_ to change.”

“I’m the president of the United States,” George squeaks. “I’m _not_ going to piss myself.”

“You literally just squeaked like a 10 year old girl, baby,” Alex says as he rolls completely on top of George and straddles his hips. “I don’t think you have much dignity left.”

“Alex!” George says again, pleading. “If I change will you let me go?” 

Alex purses his lips and gives George one last good poke in the side. “Yeah, I guess so.” Alex grins and shifts his weight a little, accidentally rutting down on George’s crotch. 

He’s surprised by George’s soft gasp and even more surprised when he feels George hardening beneath him. Alex shivers and can feel his own cock growing hard. 

“Alex,” George says softly. He pushes his hips up a little, trying to garner some friction. 

“Are you sure?” Alex whispers. He traces the outline of George’s lips with his thumb, and George parts his lips, letting out another soft gasp.

“Yes. I’m sure. I want—I _need_ to fuck you,” George says firmly. Alex nods and rolls off of George, moving to lay on his back. George quickly climbs on top of him and grinds down against him. “I need you so bad,” George says in Alex’s ear, biting his earlobe. Alex whimpers and pushes his hips up, grinding against George’s hard cock.

He and George don’t have sex very often. Their first time was after George won the election, but Alex could easily count on both hands the number of times George has fucked him. They did other things—George’s libido was pretty much back to a normal level—but George didn’t seem to enjoy the act of actual sex very much. Alex always assumed it still held some sort of weight for him, a memory so completely attached to Martha that it was hard to shake.

“George,” Alex pants. George hums against his neck and licks along his pulse point. “Are you _sure_?” George growls and grinds down hard against Alex, biting Alex’s neck as he does it. Alex moans and nods, jerking his hips up to meet George’s thrust. “Because,” Alex says, trying to keep his thoughts organized. George is sliding Alex’s zipper down and it’s hard to focus. “ _Because_ ,” Alex says more firmly. “You were really upset earlier. Like really, really upset. Is this something you really want?”

“Alex,” George snaps. “I’m hard as a rock and all I want is to spread you out on this bed so I can fuck you like you deserve. I love you. I’m okay. I promise.” 

George drops his head back down to suck on Alex’s neck, and Alex hands immediately fly to George’s pants, struggling to get them undone. George chuckles darkly as he frees Alex’s cock from his pants and teases the tip, swirling his thumb in the leaking precum. 

“I love you too,” Alex gasps.

Alex gets George out of his clothes in no time at all and saves his well planned logical argument for another day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not too happy with this chapter. It feels a little rushed, so I'm sorry if it's not as good as the others. I just got tired of toying with it and needed to post it! Thanks to everyone who read this work and commented/left kudos. You guys are the best! And, as always, comments are (still) appreciated!


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